


bravo charlie bravo whiskey sixty-nine

by eggstasy



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Pet Names, there's like 10 cameos in here, y'all know how i do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 10:02:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9542786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggstasy/pseuds/eggstasy
Summary: Tucker, completely tone deaf by idealism or by choice, removes his helmet and sends Washington a sultry look so over the top that it practically belongs on the cover of an old Harlequin romance novel.  “You like that?  I got more where that-”“I absolutely do not like that.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/gifts).



“Tucker, I want you around the west side.  Take a small squad with you, stay close to the cliffs and listen for the signal; _do not_ engage until you’re inside the structure.  I don’t want fourteen thousand tanks rolling in on us without any warning.”

Washington’s radio crackles.  _"You got it, babe."_

“Bitters-” Wash stops short, brow scrunching.  “…what did he just call me?”

Ever dutiful, Andersmith supplies, “Captain Tucker called you ‘babe,’ sir.”

Washington debates wasting time reprimanding Tucker right then and there before deciding it’s not worth it.  “Bitters, you take Gold Team up along those cliffs.  You’ll be our eyes for the exterior.”

“The structure’s exterior or Captain Tucker’s exterior, sir?”

Okay, apparently he _does_ have to address this now.  “Dish duty when we return to Armonia, lieutenant.”

Bitters sighs something like ‘worth it’ as he leads his team away and Washington pictures all the ways he’s going to make Tucker pay for this breakdown of the chain of command when they get back, hopefully all in one piece with no extra bullets anywhere.  Their squad, not Tucker.  Whether or not his revenge involves bullets is still up in the air.  “Does anybody else have a joke they’d like to make?”

Palomo raises his hand.  “It’s taking me a while to think of one, sir.  Could I have a rain check?”

“No.”  God.  Fucking- _Tucker._   “Get into position.  Everyone has their orders, now let’s take this location as quickly as possible.”

 

* * *

 

“So what the hell was that?”

Tucker, completely tone deaf by idealism or by choice, removes his helmet and sends Washington a sultry look so over the top that it practically belongs on the cover of an old Harlequin romance novel.  “You like that?  I got more where that-”

“I absolutely do not like that.”

Undaunted, Tucker tries for another approach.  “I can use something else if ‘babe’ isn’t your thing.  Sweet cheeks?  ‘Cause Wash I gotta be honest, you got the _sweetest_ cheeks I ever saw, and I’m not talkin’ about your face if you catch my drift.”

If he would put half of the tactical know-how he uses trying to get laid into actually taking out the enemy, this stupid war would already be won.  “The only way I could miss your drift with a line like that is if I lived in the desert, Tucker.”

“Sweet cheeks, I love it when we banter.”

“This isn’t banter!”

Tucker clutches at his heart.

“It’s not!  Tucker, if you can’t respect me while we’re out in the field, then we can’t go on missions together anymore.”

“Oh my _god,_ ” Tucker groans, rolling back his head and sometimes Wash feels a little dirty, like he’s dating a teenager, because this grown-ass man _acts like such a damn kid_ over the most perfectly reasonable things.  “So you’re gonna take your toys and go home, is that it?  Because you don’t know how to flirt?”

“Toys- I’m not a-” _Get it under control, Washington,_ “I know how to flirt.”

“No you don’t.”

“I know how to flirt!”  Washington jabs a finger against Tucker’s chest just to see his eyes narrow.  “I know how to flirt when- when it’s _appropriate._ ”

Tucker laughs at him, which isn’t what he was going for.  The intimidation tactic isn’t working.  “You know how to flirt _when it’s appropriate._   What, so like flirting is like smoking?  Only in the designated areas?”

“In specific situations there shouldn’t be any flirting!”

“There’s no flirting rulebook Wash, you can flirt anywhere!  Look, I can flirt right here!  I like it when your voice goes all high because it reminds me of-”

“ _Shut up Tucker,_ ” Washington says, voice all high.

 They do not come to an understanding, as Washington was hoping.  They also don’t really make any headway on much of anything else, because Tucker bats his eyes and gets that smug look on his face so of course, naturally, Washington had to get him down onto his knees and show him who’s the boss here.

Like, he _had_ to.

 

* * *

 

“Guys, did you know Wash is really picky about pet names?”

Coffee is a valuable resource, especially the beans that are actually ground and not the instant shit they usually get, so Washington is understandably pissed off when Tucker just _saying that_ in front of all their friends makes him spit out the sip he just took.  “Tucker!”

“What!”  He has the audacity to look like he didn’t do anything wrong.  “I’m getting an opinion!  Shut up and help me or stop complaining about what I call you.”

“No fuck that, I’m with Wash.  I do _not_ want to hear this.”  Grif makes decent headway into his breakfast while somehow still managing to enunciate perfectly.  Maybe he stuffs food into his cheeks like a hamster.

“Uh, seconding.  I don’t wanna know.”

“Guys, c’mon, I think it’s sweet!”

“I’m great at making up pet names.  I will help.”

Washington puts his face down on the table, slapping Grif’s hand away from his tray when it crawls too close.

“Caboose, you know we’re not talking about _pets,_ right?  It’s a pet name.  For people.”

“Tucker!  You cannot keep people as pets!”

“Yeah Tucker, what do you think this is, the Vegas Quadrant?”

“Gruff is right, this is not the Versace quantum!”

“Says the guy who tried to put down Church as a dependent on his tax forms.”

“Versace Quantum is even _more_ complic- how did he-”

“He is so young!  And I do not have a lot of money so it works out well for both of us!”

“Yeah well joke’s on you, I did it first!”

“Does Caboose even know what quantum _means?_ ”

“Well I _know_ he knows what Versace is!”

“Donut, _nobody cares_ what Versace is.”

“ _Grah,_ Tucker!  That’s not fair, you already have Junior!”

“Yeah and now I have _Church_ Junior, so bite m- _Caboose don’t you dare actually bite me!_ ”

The good thing about these animals Washington hangs out with is that, usually, if he doesn’t want to have a discussion he doesn’t have to do anything because it will derail itself all on its own.

 

* * *

 

Everybody is dying and Washington is unimpressed.

“Why can’t you run more than this?”  It’s like he hasn’t been drilling them to hell solely for the purpose of getting them to pick their damn knees up, instead of shuffling as quickly as possible across the ground like lackluster roombas.

“We’ll double our PT requirements, sir!” says Andersmith, who is excellent with solutions but not explanations.

“Fuck no we won’t,” exclaims Bitters, which Washington expected, so he gives him dish duty because he likes the comedic parallels between he and Grif both being punished in the kitchens.

“S-huh, sirhhh,” wheezes Jensen.  Nothing else forthcoming.  Washington helps her find her inhaler.

Palomo, arguably the most dead (which is impressive considering Bitters’ knack for cynical overstatement and Jensen’s weak trachea) lifts up a hand.

Washington wishes he had a ruler to smack it with.  Like a Catholic nun who still believes in the value of corporal punishment.  Not that Washington _doesn’t,_ he’s just never been Catholic and perfers his punishment to have no religious ties.  “What, Palomo.”

“You know, if you don’t like ‘babe,’ what about honey?  Or darling?”

Sheer incredulity pulls Washington’s rifle, and subsequently his grip, earthwards.  The other lieutenants abruptly recover from death to snap to attention.  “Excuse me, lieutenant?”

“You seem like the kind of guy who likes the mushy names.”

“Lieutenant Palomo,” Washington says, still incredulous, “go run until I tell you to stop.”

Palomo almost legitimately dies.  Washington makes Bitters carry him to the infirmary, and then leaves the training session in a daze. 

The effects of Tucker’s disrespect may not be particularly far-reaching, but they are dire, and they are deep.  If it’s gotten to the point where the recruits he trains are giving him a hard time, then something clearly must be done about it.

 

* * *

 

“I hear you got some trouble getting your men to respect ya!”

The Sim Trooper department of the Freelancer Project supposedly recruited only the worst of the worst of the _worst._ The washouts from regular infantry, which says a lot because regular infantry took anything with a pulse during the Great War.  Obviously one would think that the only types of washouts from infantry would be dead bodies, but lo and behold, the Director somehow managed to scrounge up enough men to fill several outposts.

The worst of the worst of the worst still manages to sneak up on Washington without a single goddamn sound, in complete head-to-toe powered body armor.

“ _Sarge!_   I _told you_ to _stop-_ ”

Sarge continues, undeterred by the muzzle six inches from his visor.  “Oh relax, Wash, this is all part of your rehabilitation.”

“Rehabi-”

“Movin’ on!”

“From my _rehabilitation?_ ”

“You got some troubles.”  Sarge gestures with his shotgun.  “And I’m here to help.”

Washington stows his rifle as the nervous twitch in his fingers finally goes away.  “…Sarge.  No offense, but your men are some of the most insubordinate I’ve ever seen.  Specifically, Grif and Lopez.”

“Ah, well, Lopez is gettin’ to that age.  Exercisin’ his independence and all that.”

“What?”

“I built that boy a handful of years ago now, but robot years are farrrr far shorter than human years!  Everybody knows that.”

“Uh huh.”

“Lopez is just growin’ up.  It’s been hard, I won’t lie, but sometimes a father’s just…just gotta let go.”

Is he crying in his helmet?  Should Wash be comforting him somehow right now?  “…Uh.  I mean, don’t worry Sarge, I’m…I’m sure he’ll come back around.”

Sarge mimes wiping away a tear before straightening back up.  “Grif notwithstanding, because he’s a piss poor excuse for a living body, let alone a soldier-”

“That just leaves Simmons and Donut.  I would also seriously argue against Simmons being a paragon of obedience.”

“I object!  That boy is obedience personified!  He complies with orders before I even give ‘em!”

“Didn’t he try to kill you once?”

“Whut?”

“To get a promotion?  I’m pretty sure Grif told me about that.”

“ _Grif_ ,” Sarge growls.  “Well, Simmons has got his issues, it’s true.  Boy’s too desperate for praise!  That’s why I gotta be _extra hard_ on him-”

“That sounds wrong.”

“-so that he’ll learn to stand up for himself!”

“By killing you.”

“Besides, Donut’s as good a soldier as they come!  -er, as they are.  As they have been.”

Wash pats him on the back sympathetically.

“Sure, the boy’s not the brightest, n’ he tends to waltz right into situations without checkin’ on the danger first, _and_ he doesn’t believe in the ‘shoot first ask questions never’ doctrine I have firmly established-”

“You have _doctrines?_ ”

“-stop interruptin’ me for your witty commentary, Wash!  Let a man finish!  -er, complete his sentences!”

“You’re never going to get to Donut’s virtues if you keep correcting yourself like that.”

“His virtues?”

“You were going to explain to me how Donut is a good soldier?”

“Donut’s a terrible soldier!  They all are!”

Wash covers his face.

 

* * *

 

“ _Pet_ names,” Carolina repeats dumbly.

Epsilon says, “I’m out,” and disappears in a wink of light, for which Washington is eternally grateful.  They might not have made up, but somehow they’ve managed to set up very specific boundaries with each other that shall never be crossed and honestly, considering their history, that’s as good as it gets.

“Yes!  He just.  He has _issues,_ Carolina, with authority, with _me-_ ”

“I noticed a couple of those,” she says, tone dry like she’s so clever.  Ugh.  She is though.  “Well, have you told Kimball about it?”

Washington shifts his weight, pulling on the sweat towel around his neck.  “I don’t want to _tell_ on him.”

“Wash, come on.”

“No, that’s what he’ll call it.  Every time I bring it up he makes me sound infantile for being upset over it, and honestly it’s starting to piss me off.”

Carolina sighs, folding her arms and leaning back on the benchpress.  “I don’t know what to tell you.  This sounds like something that’s just between the two of you, then.”

“Didn’t you ever have any problems with York?”

Carolina sputters.  “With _Y-_   What’re you- I don’t know what you’re-”

“Carolina, everybody knew.”

“ _Everybody?_ ”

“Literally all of us.  And some of not-us.  I heard two of Charon’s goons talking about it once.”

“ _Here?!_ ”

Wash waves a hand.  “No no, on a mission.”

Carolina shoves off the bench and paces in circles, cracking her knuckles.  Washington leans back on instinct.

“What did they say?”

“Uh…something like, ‘yeah that brown guy is totally going out with that green chick.’ “

“Green- I am not-”

“It’s just what they said.”

“How on _earth_ could they tell?”

“Because you guys were obvious?”  At Carolina’s blank look Washington tilts his head back and sighs.  “Come _on._   York giving you lip, you sending him those long, lingering looks instead of telling him off…  The way he’d always hover around where you were on the battlefield whenever we could manage to keep up with you?  He always checked your callsign at mission end to make sure you were okay.”

“He was just- that was him checking in as secondary squad leader,” Carolina deflects stubbornly.

“Yeah, and you _always_ made him a squad leader.”

“He had seniority!”

“Lina.”

Carolina kicks at barbell with a curse.  “I didn’t- I wish one of you had said something.  I would’ve tried to hide it better.”

Washington shrugs uneasily.  “Maybe we all needed to know someone was happy, those days.”  The look Carolina sends him is both guarded and hurt.  Time to switch tracks.  “It’s why I want this thing with Tucker to work out.  I don’t care if people know about it, I just…I need him to focus on the field.  Whenever he starts flirting he doesn’t pay attention to his surroundings and starts acting stupid.  He’s gonna get himself or his men hurt.”

Carolina stalks across the room for her water bottle instead of answering.  Time to cut his losses and leave before she _really_ starts to brood.  Two feet from the door she calls after him, “Wash.”

He stops.

“Maybe _that’s_ what you should say to him instead.”

Wash scrapes his teeth over his lip.  “Yeah, maybe.”

 

* * *

 

Six days later, Wash gets his chance.  Tucker assigns him the name ‘Stud Muffin’ as his ‘unofficial callsign’ and persists in calling Wash that even after he tells him to stop.  The enemy is probably tracking them right back through the woods as they follow a scouting patrol returning to their base and Tucker won’t shut the hell up about ‘going to the bakery’ to ‘get myself some fine fresh goods’ and what the fuck else pops into that perverted head-

“ _Sniper,”_ Washington shouts, dropping back down into the bushes as that echoing _crack_ rattles overhead.  He starts crawling, pulling up the team biofeed to riffle through his squad’s status.  “Switch to channel Charlie Foxtrot three-four-three.”  Washington doubles up the encryption for the channel for good measure.  Bastards might’ve overheard their chatter as they followed.  “Everyone, _status._ ”

_“Good, sir!”_

_“Holy shit guys did you hear that sniper?!”_

_“Palomo’s got the damn channel on mute again…”_

Washington sighs.  “Smith-”

_“On it, sir!”_

“Tucker, do you read me?”  When no response is immediately forthcoming Washington scrambles for Tucker’s biofeed to confirm- yes, he’s there, steady heartbeat-

**TKR: here dude hmt got fked up**

The relief strips the strength right out of Wash’s bones before he recovers.  “What happened to your mic?”

**TKR: dno settngs r weird**

…no.  “Did you do the firmware update you were supposed to do before we left Armonia?”

**TKR: i got sum rly firm ware 4 u**

Not good.  His communication will be a good ten seconds behind everyone else’s; Tucker could get jumped and killed and Wash would only know by watching his biofeed flatline.  “Jensen,” Washington says lowly, “can you make your way to Captain Tucker’s position without being seen?”

 _“Uh, I...sure can try!_ ”

“Negative, hold position.  I’ll go.”

**TKR: uh wsh theres a snipper**

“I’m aware of that Captain,” Washington says, nerves settled, tone cool, as he stows his rifle and lies flat on his belly, inching his way beneath the brush toward Tucker’s FOF tag.

 **TKR: im fine hhere scool u stay**  
**TKR: wash**  
**TKR: wsh serSLY**

Another shot whizzes overhead.  The echo of it is hindered by the trees but Wash is almost positive it’s coming from the east, which of course is where he’s headed.  How the sniper is managing to see them through the tree cover is something to be explored at another time.  It could actually be Locus.

**TKR: WSASH THAT WAS LIK RITE OVR YR HEAD DONT COME**

“I think that’s the only time you’ve ever told me _not_ to come,” Wash says lightly, on the team channel, bold as brass.  Palomo and he thinks Jensen both gasp.

**TKR: NOT FUNY**

“No, it’s not, is it?”

 **TKR: WHAT**  
**TKR: OK FINE I GT IT JUST STAY THRE**  
**TKR: I WONT DO THE PET NAME THNG**  
**TKR: STOP**  
**TKR: Y R U NOT STPING**

Wash sees Tucker’s ankle before anything else and reaches, closes his hand around it slowly before letting go and scooting up right next to his side, muting the team channel, for just a moment.  “Because,” he hisses, half angry and half-  Half _something,_ maybe hysterical, because this is both horrible and hilarious.  “No matter how _stupid_ you are, or how many times you ignore me or how _childish_ you act, I’m always going to be right behind you.”

Tucker stares at him.

Washington continues.  “Pushing forward as hard as I can.  Bringing us both to the edge.”

“Wash,” Tucker says, voice muffled, “I cannot believe your passive aggressive ass.”

“No passive.  This is full aggression.”

“Are we gonna fuck when we get back home?”

“Like angry fuck, yeah.  Probably.”

“ _Sweet._ ”

 

* * *

 

They don’t angry fuck, because Palomo gets shot and Tucker camps out the hospital.  He paces outside the operating room, helmet in his hands, fiddling with it whenever he can stand still long enough to try and fix the damn settings.

“Dr. Grey said he’d be just fine.”

Tucker doesn’t hear him.  Or doesn’t choose to hear him, maybe.  “Stupid fucking…the memo went to my junk,” Tucker mutters darkly.

“I’m pretty sure all the memos from Tech are marked high importance.”

Tucker throws his helmet into a chair.

“Hey,” Wash says, and takes Tucker’s hand to pull him away from where the other lieutenants are huddled against the wall, waiting.  He leads him past post-op, past the waiting rooms and over near the fifth floor chapel to push him down into a chair.  “He’ll be fine.”

“I didn’t know he was coming for me,” Tucker mutters, twisting his hands together.

“Well, he had the channel on mute.  So that was an oversight.”  Wash sighs, removing his own helmet as he sits beside Tucker.  “We’ll have to go over the new software with him again, maybe Jensen can tutor him while he recovers.”

“I should’ve been paying attention.”  Tucker strips off his gauntlets, unsnaps his gloves.  Yanks his headband off to fix his hair.  “I should’ve- you were right, I need to stop dicking around when we’re on a mission.”

“I was the one dicking around this time.”  Wash reaches over to rest a hand on Tucker’s knee.  “I was so concerned about getting to you I didn’t watch everyone else.  I should’ve made clear my orders were for _everyone_ to stay put.  This one isn’t your fault, it’s on me.”

“No, dude-”

“It is.”  Tucker’s despairing look makes him feel both better and worse.  “And that’s what I put in my report to Kimball.  I was in charge on that mission, so it was my responsibility.”

Tucker fiddles with his headband, stretching it out.  Wash takes off his own gauntlets and reaches back to help lift his hair so Tucker can slip the headband beneath it, sliding it over his forehead.  “Sorry dude,” Tucker mumbles.  “I just get all like, all fuckin’ happy and stuff that I’m out there with you, and I-”

“It’s fine.  Let’s just…keep it between us.”  Wash pats his knee again, smiling, because the worried wrinkle between Tucker’s brows is so endearing, so sweet, that Wash never wants to see it again.  “We’ll make a private channel, encrypt it.  If the feeling gets to be too much, you can whisper sweet nothings in my ear.”

“Only if we can use Bravo Charlie Bravo Whiskey sixty-nine,” Tucker jokes.  He sobers too soon, glancing up at the chapel door.  “Last time, I got someone killed because I was being too serious.  Seems like I can’t ever get this right.”

“You will.”

“You sound pretty confident.”

“Well, I have basis for it.”  Tucker’s cheek is soft under his lips, so Wash kisses it twice.  “For the record, though?  I like ‘love.’”  He stands and offers Tucker his hand.

“Uh, yeah, kinda fond of it myself,” Tucker deadpans.  He takes it.

“No, I mean for a pet name.”  Tucker blinks at him, huge brown eyes and parted lips.  Wash can feel his face heating up so he clears his throat and looks away.  “I mean, if you wanted to use something that you know I like.  You kind of seemed like you were-”

“Okay.”

Tucker’s fingers squeeze his.  Wash squeezes back, and starts back toward the operating room. “…okay.”

“Me too, but you gotta call me by my proper title.”

“I’m afraid to ask-”

“ _Doctor_ Love.”

“There it is.”

“PhD.”

“Yeah, you said doctor, so…”

“Wrote my thesis on Makin’ You Feel Good.”

“Mm.”

“Minored in Sexy Dances.”

“Now I _know_ that’s a lie.”

“Graduated with honors, Make-‘em Cum Loudly.”

“ _Tucker,_ oh my god.”

**Author's Note:**

> iz gave me this prompt like sixteen generations ago and i am just filling it now because i, according to empirical evidence, fucking suck


End file.
